


Red Tape Will Drive You Nuts

by dear_tiger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_tiger/pseuds/dear_tiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to a veiled suggestion by Alastair, a part of Dean's soul is hanging out with Sam's in Hell. (Early S6)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Tape Will Drive You Nuts

“You can’t torture me,” says the little soul, and adds as an afterthought, “Sorry.” It sounds insincere, like a soul of a liar.

Marmaduke stares at it. It stares back. “What?”

“I said you can’t torture me. Get those away from me.”

Marmaduke drops his pliers reflexively. He is fairly new to the whole demon gig, but the instructions were crystal clear. Find a soul that looks like it’s enjoying itself too much. Grab it. Intimidate it. Rip it to bloody shreds. Marmaduke puffs out his chest, trying to cover up for the pliers. “Say your prayers to whatever god you believe in, little one. For this is the day when you shall know the true meaning of…”

“Nuh uh. Can’t torture me.”

Marmaduke stomps his foot in annoyance. “And why not, pray tell?”

The soul grins sweetly, lighting up. “In accordance with the Ungodly Law, chapter 5.1, any soul condemned to Hell for its sins or surrendered voluntarily shall be subjected to awful torture.”

“Well?”

“Oh, it’s just that I haven’t been condemned or surrendered. I am, in fact, being held prisoner.”

Marmaduke stares helplessly at his new set of instruments. He opens and closes his mouth.

“Sir,” says the soul severely. “I don’t wanna slap you with 17.25 but I will.”

****

Sometimes Sam is a tall man, and sometimes he is a tiny dragon with gangly limbs. His brother is a toy train sometimes, and sometimes a man with parts of his body missing. Sam likes to sleep on top of Dean’s cars, legs and tail hanging to the floor, claws scraping against the brimstone as he twitches in his sleep. He wakes up with his human face pressed between Dean’s shoulder blades, and when he feels the smooth muscle and the hard bones under his cheek, he knows that Dean has gone without parts of his ribcage and abdomen to recreate the back for Sam. But one gets used to these things in Hell.

It’s only parts of Dean’s soul that were left behind – whatever got stuck to the grill. “Dude, I’m like that Terminator from the second movie, pulling all my pieces together,” he explains proudly.

 _Yes,_ Sam thinks. _You are the Terminator._

There isn’t enough for a full body, but it’s not like missing limbs could ever stop Dean Winchester. The brothers prowl Hell together – shoulder to shoulder – because Dean insists that he can draw a map of the place once he figures out how its dimensions work, and Sam wants to help and to check out the sights. The celebrities they both want to see.

“I don’t remember what he did,” says Sam. He rests his belly on top of Dean’s locomotive and exhales tendrils of smoke. Below them, an ancient king stands chest-deep in water, surrounded by low-hanging fruit, and he is starving to death.

“Probably cooked somebody and served them to their kin,” Dean suggests. “Hey, do you think you could--?”

“Yeah.” Sam slips off him and starts climbing along a grapevine. Fat, dark fruit is hanging next to the king’s mouth, and Sam wonders if it will pull away from his reach the same way it does from the king’s, if he could feed the man. He extends a clawed hand and touches the grapes.

The vine retracts, and Sam goes _plonk_ into the water.

****

 _To: John and Mary Winchester, Heaven  
From: The Cursed Lawyers’ Association, Hell_

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Winchester,_

 _We would like to bring to you attention the unacceptable behavior of your youngest son, Samuel Winchester. As you may know, Mr. Winchester has never been a student of an accredited school of law anywhere in the world, nor has he passed bar examination. Nevertheless, Mr. Winchester has been supplying legal advice to the souls of the damned in regards to their rights as the tortured._

 _We appeal to you in the hopes that you may influence Mr. Winchester’s behavior and prevent him from further interference in the Association’s business._

 _We also request that you have a conversation with your eldest son, Dean Winchester, about cessation of physical violence against the members of the Association. We have the misfortune of being shaped like Elvis Presley bobble-head dolls and fail to see the hilarity of being repeatedly hit over the heads._

 _Signed,  
Dicken, Flicken and Flegel, honorary members of the Cursed Lawyers’ Association, Hell_

****

If John Winchester ever hears that both his sons’ souls got pulled to Hell, it will make him sad. But he will know they stayed inseparable and will see them hiking up an obsidian mountain over a fiery lake, a roll of human skin parchment clasped in Dean’s hand, and the sight will make him proud.

If Mary Winchester ever hears what sort of sins condemned her sons’ souls to Hell… Well, she’ll still find an excuse for them because they’re good boys. Mainly, it was good intentions anyway.

****

In the deepest cave of Hell, two souls sleep curled together. Sam dreams that he is walking out of Hell and slipping back into his body, and then his brother says, “Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” He is an annoying jerk like that. But it’s not a banana – it’s a toy train. In his dream, Sam touches the rest of his brother’s soul and feels it pulsate to the beat of _Back in Black_ in his palm. He wakes up.

Of course Hell would be illuminated with disco lights. Really, he should have known. Sam winces at the flickering lights and the screams of the tortured souls.

“Oh my god,” mumbles Dean in his sleep. “They killed Kenny. Again.”

Sam rolls over and stares at the cave’s low ceiling, his side pressed against Dean’s intact left side. He can feel the map in Dean’s pocket. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they’re getting out.

“You bastards,” he says, smiling.

Dean snickers without waking up.  



End file.
